THE CITIZEN

It’s 2.45pm. We’re riding on segways stolen from civilian policemen five years ago, cruising along the dry bottom of a storm drain following the SLE, that will soon join the larger BKE drain, whereupon we will navigate the network of canals around Bukit Timah, slip into the CTE connected drain, and then emerge into an opening at the Geylang River. 

The drain walls are taller than us, allowing us to remain unseen as we take this subterranean route through the heart of Singapore. Above us, we can hear the distant sound of traffic. Occasionally, when the drain veers closer to a small road, the purring of a public bus, accompanied by the slide and slam of the doors as it discharges its load and takes on new passengers. 

The drain continues straight for a few kilometers. Tan Vee Bun leads the procession, standing on his segway, the black strap holding his glasses to his neck pulling us along. Next to me, Robert Sebastian Cheong in his navy blue visor begins his history lesson, in that Oxford English accent: 

“In the early days, floods were commonplace in Singapore. Many Singaporean Sons grew up with grandparents, or even parents, waxing lyrical about the days when heavy rain houses on stilts were commonplace, and houses that weren’t contended with their modern belongings floating away in a slow current from front door to living room to kitchen to the backyard.”

He continues: “Worse still, the creatures that came in with the water without leaving -- cockroaches, rats, snakes -- nesting under the tables and in the cabinets. In feng shui terms, all this water was wealth, and maybe it was: the soul of singapore created in the clash of nature and modernity.”

“Ultimately, Lee Kuan Yew decided to build a massive drain network to prevent the floods -- the storm drains, the canals, the widened, concrete walled rivers -- bringing the catastrophic economic and societal consequences of regular, but still unpredictable flooding to an end.”

I cut in, “and here we are. The dispossessed. Wealth from the heavens washed out from society to the jungles, while superficial values crowd the land and the sky in towering skyscrapers and unchecked materialism.”

“That doesn’t makes any sense.”

Robert Sebastian Cheong smiles at me. An image of mouth and teeth and aviator glasses and the massive blue shade provided by his visor. I had little such defenses, having opted for a sun hat and a generous helping of sunscreen. I think briefly about punching him, but remember I ended up with a concussion the last time I did so. 

I keep my thoughts to myself. Us True Singaporeans: the unwanted wealth of the land dumped into the jungles. The soul of Singapore encoded in my destiny as the next Lee Kuan Yew. My 八字 dictating my determination to thrust ourselves back into a failing society, fighting against the current of malaise and indifference. 

Our segways run into a mossy section of the drain, and we slow down. Tan Vee Bun turns back to us, “Are any of you hungry?”

“I’d love some food,” comes Robert Sebastian Cheong’s voice. I just stare blankly. Food from his backpack?

Tan Vee Bun turns his segway into a side-drain, where a bucket hangs in the air supported by a fishing line. From the bucket, he pulls out a laminated menu and a sharpie. 

“Kacang puteh for me, zhi pa for Robert and Jia Sen? What would you like?”

“I guess, I’ll have a Coke...and what else do they have to eat?”

“I’ll get you a chicken burger. These guys do great chicken burgers.”

With the sharpie, Tan Vee Bun makes some marks on the menu, placing it back into the bucket with a ten dollar note. He tugs on the line twice, and whoever is above us, outside of the drain reels it in. 

The three of us sit in the late afternoon shade on the left side of the drain, while above us the sounds of food cooking intermingle with the chatter of the drainside stall owners -- a curious patois of chinese dialect, bengali, burmese and bahasa and tagalog. I wonder about this drainside community, a world of people colonising the places in-between Singapore neighbourhoods, sustained by the network of drains bringing in commerce and people and supplies. The infinitely thin, infinitely large world sitting just beyond the pavements, beyond the dividers, beyond the treeline, undetected by a society that doesn’t even want to know about its existence: the greatest invisibility of all.